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Our Grand Army of the Republic 



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COPYRIGHT 1888, 

BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY, 

NEW YORK. 



OUR 



RAND Army of The Republic, 



:^ 



BY 



GEORGE W(/bUNGAY. 



Author of ''Offhand Takings" ''Pen Portraits," "Traits of Representative Men" 
"The Creeds of the Belts" etc. 




1888: 

HARD & PARSONS, 

New York. 



TO THE 

^vanb ^rm-g of f^e 'IRepuBHc, 

THIS BOOK 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR 

GEORGE W. BUNGAY. 






INTRODUCTION. 



^HE Veterans of the Grand Army of the RepubHc, the Sons of Veterans and their friends, 
will find the contents of this book suited not only to Memorial Day, but to every day, as 
a reminder of the patriotism, the heroism, the marvelous courage, and the exalted devotion to 
duty developed in the camp and on the field, during the late war, by the men who risked their 
lives to save the life of the nation. At entertainments, private and public, selections from this book 
may be read or recited at gatherings of Grand Army Men, and tend to kindle anew the fire of 
patriotism and the love of liberty in the hearts of all who stand by the flag and the Union. 



THE FOURTH 


AND 


THE FLAG.'' 


The patriot Wendover, of old. 






Wise statesmen looked to heaven on high 


! Suggested stripes and stars of gold 






And transcribed from the starlit sky. 


For the true standard of the free ; 






The beautiful and grand design ; 


, And when the gallant nation bled, 






The red " meant " courage in the fight, 


I He saw the smoking streams of red, 






And purity unstained the white, 


And the blue dome of sky o'erhead, 






The blue sprinkled with points of light. 


Embracing the broad land and sea. 






Emblems sweet hope and love divine 


He saw the soft stars shining through 






The generations yet unborn, 


The radiant field of azure hue — 






On every Independence morn. 


A gentle hint by nature given 






Shall point with joyous ecstasy 


To patriots pure, and brave and wise, 






To the bright flag, with pride unrolled ; 


And copied from the glowing skies, 






And to the added stars of gold, 


The flag that God unfolds in heaven. 






And stripes that underscore its fold — 


I 






The unconquered banner of the free ! 


Though baptized 


in 


the battle 


blast. 


It waves to-day from spire and mast. 


Oh, may it wave without surcease ! 


The standard of 


th( 


I brave an 


d free ; 


A light upon the 


land and sea 


I 


A promise and a 


prophesy 




Of happy cent 


uries of peac 


e! 


See Note i, Page 33. 




9 





OUR GRAND ARMY OF 


THE REPUBLIC. 


Unfold the flag of stripes and stars, 




Grand Army, what an army grand ! 


That led our soldiers through the sea 




In every battle for the right, 


Of fire and blood, sealed with red scars, 




Its monument will ever stand ; 


As their diplomas of the free. 




Star-crowned in the eternal light. 


Hail to the men whose breasts became 




Soft drops are trembling on the eaves 


A pulsing bulwark in the strife ! 




Of eyes, in faces that we meet ; 


t 

They flinched not when the lurid flame 




For here are men with empty sleeves. 


Like lightning struck at freedom's life ! 




And crutches clatter in the street. 


Heart touching heart, these heroes stood, 




They join with us in strewing flowers, 


In war's hot vestibule of hell ; 




Where there departed comrades rest. 


Firm as stout oaks, within a wood. 




Unwaked by war's tempestuous showers. 


On whose torn leaves swift hailstones fell. 




Peace lingers there, a constant guest. 


Their cannon shouted o'er the world, 




Gold flowers are torches dipped in light ; 


And shook the thrones of tyranny. 




White flowers, symbol sweet purity ; 


Now the dear flag of stars unfurled, 




Red flowers, emblem the bloody fight ; 


Covers a nation saved and free. 


10 


Blue flowers, show loyal constancy. 



THE BOY DRUMMER OF THE RAPPAHANNOCK.^ 



The drummer with his drum 
Shouting " Come, comrades, come, 
Forward march nigher, nigher, 
Where the war bugles wail, 
Where bullets fall like hail 
In hurricanes of fire." 

Beat his drum, 

Shouting "Come, 

Come, come, come." 

And the fife 

In the strife 
Joins the drum, drum, drum, drum. 
The fifer with his fife. 
The drummer with his drum, 
Are heard above the strife 



Throbs — the drum, drum, drum, drum, 
In the hurricane of flame. 
And thunder of the bomb. 
Who'll braid the wreath of fame, 
For the hero of the drum, 
Drum, drum, drum ? 

The Rappahannock runs. 
Where sulphur throated guns 
Pour forth hot hail and fire, 
The heroes in the boats 
Fear not the sulphur throats 
They look higher, higher, higher, higher, 
And the drum 
Never dumb 



And thunder of the bomb. 


Beat, beat, beat, | 


And bursting of the bomb, 


Till the oars 


Bomb, bomb, bomb ! 


Touched the shores 




And the fleet, feet, feet, feet. 


Over tent, dome and hall. 


Of the soldiers on the shore. 


The smoke hangs like a pall. 


With bayonets and guns 


Hot shot and blazing bomb 


Where the Rappahannock runs. 


Cut down the volunteers. 


Hastened to the front 


And sweep the engineers. 


To face the battle brunt. 


The drummer beats his drum, 


The river runs 'tis true 


But he'll beat 


But not the boys in blue 


No retreat 


Nor the drummer with his drum 


With his drum. 


Shouting, "come, come, come, come, 


Through the fire. 


Come, come, come." 


Hotter, higher 






See Note 2, Page 33. 
II 



OUR FLAG AT FORT WAGNER. 



Unroll our flag and let it wave ; 
From swelling dome and rising spire — 
The starry banner of the brave, 
Lighting the land with points of fire. 
It is the flag our fathers bore 
In triumph through the battle's blast, 
And as it waved in days of yore. 
It waves to-day from tower and mast. 
Above the fiery storm. 
Freedom unveils her form ! 
Fort Wagner silenced lies, 
Where our old banner flies. 



Our flag, the symbol of the free. 
Has dawned upon the nation's night 
Like sunrise on a stormy sea, 
Whose billows kiss the morning light. 
Its star-lit wing, baptized with blood. 
Shall lead the hosts of freedom now. 
As fiery pillars o'er the flood, 
Led Israel up from deeps below. 

Wagner is ours again ; 

We break the galling chain 

That bound the panting slave ! 

So let our banner wave ! 



Where armies marshal let it wave. 
And lead them on to victory ; 
Or shroud them in a glorious grave, 
Like Spartans at Thermopylee ! 
Our fathers in their coffins turned, 
When Sumter's thunder woke the land, 
When every patriot's bosom burned 
With loyal love that nerved the hand. 
Where Shaw and Putnam fell. 
In hurricanes of shell. 
At Wagner let the stars 
Shine o'er those sons of Mars ! 



OUR GRAND 


ARMY. 


Firm as stout oaks within a wood 


They march beneath the flag of stars, 


Where the hot hail of bullets fell, 


That led them through the crimson sea ; 


Shoulder to shoulder heroes stood ; 


Their valor sealed and stamped with scars 


The sky rang like a funeral bell. 


Of freedom's brave diplomacy. 


Black cannon thundered to the world, 


Hail to the men whose breasts became 


And shook the thrones of tyranny. 


A living wall in battle's strife ! 


! Torn was the flag of stars unfurled ; 


They flinched not when the lurid flame. 


Saved is the nation now and free. 


Was hurled against the nation's life. 


Here are the men with empty sleeves. 


They faced unmasked the foe in fight. 


And men on crutches from the field. 


And stood up with undaunted will ; 


Where the red harvester reaped sheaves. 


Without the treacherous dynamite ; 


And death's stroke battered freedom's shield. 


The soldier scorns the coward's skill. 


They come to join in strewing flowers 


Sweet flowers of gold dipped in the light ; 


Where their departed comrades rest. 


White flowers, symbols of purity ; 


Unwaked by war's tempestuous showers ; 


Red flowers, "true courage in the fight," 


Peace lingers now a loyal guest 

13 


Blue flowers, the type of constancy. 



SEND THEM HOME 


TENDERL Y. 


In their own martial robes arrayed, 


Deal gently with the pale, cold dead. 


j With cap and cloak and shining blade, 


For Massachusetts bows her head — 


In the still coffin softly laid, 


But not with shame ; her eyes are red 


Oh, send them tenderly. 


With weeping for the slain. 


Our bleeding country's gallant corps 


Like Rachel she is sad indeed ; 


Of noble dead can sleep no more 


And long her broken heart will bleed 


Where monuments at Baltimore 


For children true in word and deed. 


Stand up Liberty. 


She cannot meet again. 


Oh, touch them tenderly, I pray. 


Lift up each gallant son of Mars, 


And softly wipe the blood away 


And shroud him in the flag of stars, 


From the red lips of wounds that say 


Beneath whose folds he won the scars. 


" How sweet it is to die 


Through which his spirit fled 


For one's dear Country, at a time 


From glory here to glory where 


Coincidence crowns, with sublime 


The banner blue in fields of air 


Associations, deeds that chime 


Is bright with stars forever there, 


In human history." 


Without the stripes of red. 


See. Note 3, Page 33. 

14 





THE ARMY OF 


] 

THE GRASS. 


With clover white and clover red, 






The army of the grass is true, 


It hides the stain where heroes bled, 






Waving its flowers red, white and blue, 


Its tender secret keeping ; 






When called by winds to rally ; 


And spreads its mantle where the dead 






And, like the hosts of Roderick Dhu, 


In peaceful rest are sleeping. 






It springs from hill and valley. 


It finds the graves of blue and gray, 






Creeping in silence up the mound. 


It comes on Decoration day. 






It holds its conquest of the ground. 


With violets and daisies ; 






Below the captured hill is ; 


It keeps dear memories green for aye, 






Its emerald flag embroidered round 


Where sweet birds sing their praises. 






With buttercups and lilies. 


Down the calm vale where waters run, 






Like liberty crushed in the dust 


The grass looks up to greet the sun. 






By tyranny, the grass will thrust 


Happy in shining weather ; 






The spear that shall dissever 


A million joyous blades, like one, 






The clod, for like the truth, it must 


Rejoice in light together. 






Rise victor by endeavor. 


Let flowers 


of every 


hue abound 


Within the 


silent camping ground, 


Where rest the brave 


immortals ; 


For Heaven is near 


the hero's mound. 


And love 


waits at its 
15 


portals. 



OUR GRAND ARMIES. 



Coats of Blue, 
Under them, hearts brave and true ! 

War has its victories, so has peace. 
Our " grand armies " of to-day. 
Find the fields grown green and gay, 

Where Liberty renewed her lease. 

Flags of stars 
Held by veteran sons of Mars 

Under the summer firmament, 
Are dim with gray smoke, and torn. 
Yet how proudly they are borne ; 

For light shines through where bullets went. 

Sword and gun 
Glitter in the unclouded sun ; 

Hedges of steel and cannon grim. 
All remind us of the time 
When War's loud thunder chime 

Was the chorus of the battle hymn. 



Soldiers true 
As ever to their banner blue, 

Disbanded, other harvests reap. 
Not the red swaths of the slain, 
Rut sweet swaths of grass and grain 

Show through what fields our armies sweep. 

Armies now 
Follow with song the peaceful plow ; 

And cultivate industrious arts. 
And the dear love of brotherhood, 
Wherever born. The best blood 

Is that which beats in noble hearts. 

Armies grand 
Fill the workshops of the land, 

Smiting the metals into form ; 
They triumph over wood and stone, 
Ships they steer from zone to zone, 

And capture lightnings in the storm. 



Brave and wise. 
They spare not the star-lit skies. 

But point their tubes at the blue tent ; 
Electricity and steam 
They harness, and the swiftest team 

They drive across a Continent. 



i6 



THE SILENT CAMP. 



We scatter flowers of every hue, 
Star dropt, on petals white and blue, 
And crimson as the scars and stains 
Of heroes on the purple plains ; 

And buds as red 
As the soft lips of wounds that bled. 

Where nature strews fair daisies sweet, 
Above the hearts that cease to beat, 
Baptizing them with light and rain ; 
Shall we withold, with stern disdain. 

The gift of flowers 
From those who saved this land of ours ? 



This day shall fragrant odors rise 
Like incense to the stooping skies. 
From censer cups of blue and gold. 
Whose beauty burns about the mold 

Of heroes, true, 
To the dear flag, red, white and blue. 

Blue, emblem of fidelity, 

White, sign of loyal purity. 

Red, signifying courage true, 

Stars, on the banner, shining through 

Soft points of light. 
To lead, like lamps, our steps aright. 



The cemetery's rounded graves 

Look like a silent sea of waves. 

Whose billows standing still are seen, 

Strewn thick with flowers and leaves of green. 

Rest to the free. 
Whose furlough is eternity ! 



17 



OUR SOLDIERS' WELCOME HOME. 



Bronzed and battered and covered with scars,. 

Dressed in their faded uniform, 
Lifting aloft the standard of stars 

They bore through the battle storm, 
Proudly they marched in the grand review 
Under the cloudless arch of blue. 

Through the cheering street 

Their triumphant feet 

Keep step with the drum. 

Loudly shouting they come. 

Like a river the column sweeps by 
Stretching many a league away 
Beyond the reach of the eager eye 

That's moist with tears of joy to-day ; 
These are the men who have fought and bled : 
Aye, and suffered so long in our stead. 

Like scintillent stars 

Their glorious scars, 

With patriot flame, 

Light the pathway of fame. 



They have charged in the face of the foe 
Through hot tempests of shot and shell. 
When the war clouds were hanging low 

And the red rain in torrents fell. 
Leaping through sharp hedges of fire, 
Up slippery mounds and parapets higher. 

With the banners they bear 

Through the jubilant air. 

Giving back to the sky 

The stars blazing high. 

They have marched through the swamps of the South 

And forded treacherous streams ; 
They have looked down the cannon's mouth 

By the light of its sulphur gleams. 
When the sky rang like a funeral bell 
Over their comrades, that bravely fell 

On field and redoubt. 

And were mustered out ; 

On the red field of fiery strife 

God mustered them into eternal life. 



i8 



MV BROTHERS PORTRAIT. 



That's a portrait of my brother ; he fell 
At Gettysburg, in a harsh storm of shell 

And iron hail on that terrible day 
When the valley rang with the cannon's knell, 

And fire fell upon the blue and the gray. 

He was tall and straight and handsome, you see 
Hair black as a raven's feather, and we 

Thought that his eyes of a beautiful brown 
Looked through the dim veil of futurity 

Into the realm of the throne and the crown. 

When the smoke of the battle was lifted high, 
Like a curtain drawn by hands from the sky, 

We sought for him amid heaps of the slain ; 
But we never found him though we were nigh 

The spot where he fell in the fiery rain. 



Nor stake nor stone mark the grave where he sleeps; 
The dumb earth around, the sad secret keeps ; 

But he will arise on the judgment day, 
When the soft white wing of the angel sweeps 

Over the camp's silent couches of clay. 

He was but a mere youth, just past nineteen ; 
The handsomest lad of the village green ; 

The pet of his parents and sisters dear. 
And brothers brave, on whose hearts he would lean 

In his blithe boyhood, when danger was near. 

Oh how we miss him at the fireside bright ; 
When the winds wail on a bleak wintry night ; 

And in summer and autumn, when the red stain 
On the leaves and flowers in the golden light. 

Is as red as the brave blood of the slain. 



Here in the old homestead is a vacant chair, 
And our mother looks in vain for him there ; 

And sometimes in her fitful sleep she seems 
To see him descending a starry stair. 

Like an angel on the ladder of dreams. 



19 



THE OLD BATTLE-FIELD. 



There is a tinge of crimson, blue and gold, 
Upon the foliage that clothes the hills, 
From their rough knees and ribs of solid rock, 
To their wide shoulders lifted to the clouds. 
How gorgeous the autumnal scarf of leaves, 
Gleaming like silken banners in the sun. 
Upborne by hosts clad in the pomp of war ! 

As Joseph's coat of many colors showed 
The love a father cherished for his son, 
So this vast robe of varied tints and shades 
Dropped like Elijah's mantle from the sky, 
Betokens a dear Father's love for us. 

Crowned emperors and kings and mitred popes. 
Clothed in the rich regalia of their caste, 
Are poor in contrast with these monarch trees. 
Upon whose leaves rainbows repeat their dyes, 
And glorious sunsets leave their golden light.. 
Clasped in the blue arms of the hazy heaven. 
The hills seem lifted to the azure sky. 

There the soft maple's scarlet foliage burns 
In the still woods with unconsuming fire ; 
The elm holds high its coronal of gold 
And strews its yellow wreath upon the ground ; 
The bronzed boughs of the hickory hide the nuts 



That cluster unobserved among the leaves ; 
And here and there the steepling evergreen, 
Emblem of hope, waves its unfading plume. 
Far as the eye can reach, the vales and hills 
Are all ablaze with gold and scarlet flakes. 

There the bright oriole hangs her swinging nest, 
Its windows open to the morning sun ; 
And there the sable crow, unmusical. 
Seems like a patch of darkness in the bush. 

Here Titans of the forest have been swept 
By storms, all pitiless, of shot and shell ; 
Like thunderbolts that Jove hurled at his foes ! 
Missiles of death have scarred these oaks and elms, 
Which have for ages wrestled with the wind 
And fought the thunder that came winged with fire. 
And still grew stronger in their strife with storms. 

Under these branches simple graves are filled 
With heroes sleeping peacefully and sweet. 
Where wild flowers are the sylvan .syllables 
That spell their epitaphs in sweetest words. 
And lowly bushes bribe the birds of song 
With fruit, that they may cheer with wood-notes soft 
The solitude so weird and beautiful. 













ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


HENRY WARD BR EC HER* 




Self poised he stood, like Saul among 


How marvellous his wit and eloquence ! 




The Hebrews, taller than the rest ; 


How wise and luminous his thought and ken ! 




Honored by age, loved by the young, 


A well born orator and prince of men. 




Whose hearts seemed beating in his breast. 


His genius shines like light in common sense, 




No coronet had pinched his brow 


He moves the multitude with love intense. 






'i'o littleness ; no golden chains — 


Long may he hold the ready writer's pen. 






No spangled garter stopped the flow 


Though now beyond his threescore years and ten. 






Of the free blood that filled his veins. 


His battle words were once our strong defense 






He with the prophet's vision blest. 


When thunder pealed from the hot cannon's lips 




Looked through the telescope of tears, 


Under a fire-lit crimson canopy — 






And from the windows of the west 


And shadows shrouded bleeding Liberty ; 






Saw peace come down the future years. 


Then " Northern Lights " were lost in her eclipse. 






Freedom another martyr found. 


Upon the "Southern Cross" foes crucified 






When our great chieftain bowed his head ; 


Our Freedom, risen now and glorified. 






From the red portal of his wound, 








His spirit to his Maker fled. 


See Note 4, Page 33. 
21 













BUILDING MONUMENTS. , 



Through hfe we build our monuments 
Of honor and, perhaps, of fame ; 

The Httle and the great events 
Are blocks of glory or of shame. 

The modest, humble, and obscure, 
Living unnoticed and unknown. 

May raise a shaft that will endure 
Longer than pyramids of stone. 

The carven statue turns to dust. 
And marble obelisks decay, 

But deeds of pity, faith and trust. 
No storms of fate can sweep away. 

Their base stands on the rock of right, 
Their apex reaches to the skies ; 

They glow with the increasing light 
Of all the circling centuries. 



Our building must be good or bad ; 

In words we speak, in deeds we do ; 
On sand or granite must be laid 

The shaft that shows us false or true. 

How do we build — what can we show 
For hours and days and years of toil ? 

Is the foundation firm below? 
Is it on rock or sandy soil ? 

The hand that lifts the fallen up. 

That heals a heart or binds a wound. 

That gives the needed crust and cup, 
Is building upon solid ground. 

Is there a block of .stainless white 
Within the monumental wall, 

On which the sculptured skill can write, 
" He for his country ventured all ? " 



FLAGS AT HALF-MAST. 



Flags are lowered at half-mast, " Grant is dead ! " 

Oh how dolefully the sorrow bells toll 

The requiem for a departed soul. 

Think of the conquering armies that he led ; 

And now in peace he rests his laureled head. 

How grand his deeds, writ large on history's scroll, 

How great his fame on honor's radiant roll. 

The touched heart of the people, beat and bled, 

When he was smitten with disastrous pain. 

In sackcloth and in ashes did the nation sit. 

And never yet was offered prayer in vain 

To Him who knows best how to answer it. 

The cross of suffering raised the soldier near 

The crown and throne in the celestial sphere. 



GENERAL GRANTS MONUMENT. 



When crossing the red sea of war, the tent 
Of sky made glorious with points of light, 
A radiant cloud by day — a fire at night — 

A sheltering wing above the continent 

Shielded our captain and fresh courage lent. 
He who was foremost in the dreadful fight 
Feared not the fatal messenger in white 

From Heaven's headquarters on sad missions sent. 

A Christian soldier — he was fit to go, 

Unreluctant, when the great Master called. 

He who surrendered to no mortal foe 

Could m.eet the "king of terrors " unappalled ; 

And his enduring monument shall be 

The land he saved, home of the brave and free. 



23 













THE CHRISTIAN HERO, HARRY LEE* 


RED, WHITE AND BLUE. 






When patriot heroes heard the call 


Let the blue blossom lean its head 




To arms they harnessed for the fight. 


Upon the sod where sleeps the brave, 






And hastened to the front to fall 


And lilies white and roses red 






Or stand in battle for the right. 


Breathe balm upon the soldier's grave. 




With these brave champions of the free, 


Strew flowers upon the silent mound, 




Under the flag marched Harry Lee. 


Before the sun absorbs the dew. 






The field was swept with fiery rain, 
The sky seemed an exploding shell ; 


Let starry petals light the ground. 

Decked with sweet flowers, red, white and blue. 




j Death was the reaper of the plain, 

And in red swathes the soldiers fell. 


The vast green woods all Winter mute, 
Bow their quick leaves again to hear 




A martyr to sweet liberty 


The blue-bird's soft and cheerful flute, 




Was brave and gentle Harry Lee. 


And the blithe robin piping near. 




When Decoration Day returns, 


The soil baptized with Summer rain. 




And martial music fills the air. 


From cooling clouds to Nature true. 




The old love in each bosom burns, 


Is fragrant of sweet flowers again. 




And comrades strew the blossoms fair 


Whose blossoms are red, white and blue. 




To honor the fond memory 
Of the true hero, Harry Lee. 


The broad blue wing of heaven unfurled, 
Shall shield the sleeping sons of Mars, 




His epitaph in daisies sweet 


And He who moulds and moves the world. 




Is written in soft lines of love ; 


Shall watch them with unsleeping stars. 




His dust sleeps now where vet'rans meet. 


Cull the choice beauties of your bowers, 




His spirit dwells in heaven above. 


The tears that fall like heavenly dew, 




His comrades speak how tenderly 


Shall glow like gems on fragrant flowers 






Of their commander, Harry Lee. 


That wave in peace, red, white, and blue. 






See Note 5, Page 33. 

24 













DEEDS WRIT ON MEM'R Y'S SCROLL. 



Above the dear, brave hearts that cease to beat 

Let loving hands strew flowers on every mound 
Within the lines of the still camping ground, 

Where there is no assault, and no retreat, 
And victory is not followed by defeat. 

Unbroken rest and peace at last are found. 

No clash of swords, no trumpet's thrilling sound 
Nor roar of guns disturb their slumbers sweet. 

Their deeds are writ on mem'ry's sacred scroll ; 
And patriot love shall touch these hearts of ours. 

When, at their graves, fame comes to call the roll. 
And hope and love and honor scatter flowers. 

Brave souls survive the storms of shot and fliame ; 

Their furlough blossoms in eternal fame. 



TILE QUEEN MONTH OF THE YEAR. 



Gay month of spring and sweetest of the year, 

Flower-crowned, melodious, sweet-scented May 

Calls out the chorus of the birds to day, 

And spreads her mantle over wood and mere. 

To honor heroes, she still lingers here 

And scatters blossoms for the blue and gray, 

Daisies and dandelions strew her way. 

She will not leave, until the still camp near 

Is strewn with fairest flowers of every hue. 

She has bouquets for all "the boys in blue ;" 

And bright flowers for the mounds where sleep the gray. 

She covers with her scarf of green the wound, 

That shot and shell made on the battle ground. 



25 



PRESIDENT LINCOLN AT GETTYSBURG 
CEMETERY. 



O brave and star-crowned chief ! thy eloquence 

At Gettysburg has won immortal fame. 

Lincoln and Liberty stand for the same ; 

And each memorial holiday will hence 

Repeat thy speech of genius joined with sense, 

And patriotic logic winged with flame, 

And mind us of the hero's hallowed claim 

Who won our battles under Providence ! 

They "dedicate the ground" in which they rest. 

We here "resolve" they have not "died in vain." 

Their living comrades coming here are blest. 

Love looks through tears like sunlight after rain. 

The gallant soldier consecrates anew, 

His zeal for freedom, and the right and true ! 



THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 



Two mighty armies in harsh battle meet. 

On Pennsylvania's rural hills and plains. 

Now from the thundering heavens of smoke it rains 

In torrents of hot hail and leaden sleet. 

Cannon to cannon shout, the hills repeat 

The angry threat ; and .scorn and pride disdains 

The flag of stripes and stars, and martial strains 

That make the loyal heart the quicker beat. 

To the arbitrament of dreadful strife, 
The question of a nation's liberty — 
Its sacred union and its honored life — 
Was left, the verdict was " We will be free ! " 
Proclaimed to all mankind, by cannon shot ! 
It was the sword that cut the Gordian knot ! 



26 



HAIL TO THE KEARSARGE! 


MUSTERED OUT. 


Hail to the Kearsarge ! castle of oak, 


Hail to the hero mustered out, 


And pride of the heaving sea ! 


Let the black- throated cannon shout, 


Hail to the guns, whose thunder awoke 




The waves, and startled with lightning stroke 


And fling to the wind the stars. 


The nations that will be free 1 


Rejoice, ye jubilant bells. 


Hail to her captain and crew ! 


The heart of the patriot swells. 


Hail to her banner blue ! 
Hail to her deathless fame ! 


And tears overflow from their wells. 


Hail to her " granite " name ! 


When we see the soldier's scars. 


The British lion may cease his roar, 


We welcome him home from the field, 


For his darhng privateer. 


Untarnished his sabre and shield, 


At sea a pirate, a thief on shore, 




Now lies a wreck on the ocean floor. 


Untainted his lauiel crown. 


No longer a buccaneer. 


Champion of the brave and free. 


Hail to our Yankee tars ! 


what a brave spirit had he. 


Hail to the stripes and stars ! 




Hail, Winslow, chief of the sea ! 


God grant that we never may see 


Hail to his victory ! 


A cloud on his grand renown. 

27 



THE 


OLD 


FLAG. 


Here are the men whose breasts became, 




The battle flags faded and worn. 


A Hving wall in battle's flame, 




In service on the field, and torn 


1 To save the nation, when the strife, 




In storms of war, by shell and shot, 


A scene of glory and of shame, 




Above the heads of heroes borne, 


Threatened the union and the life 




Proclaim to all, that we have not — 


Of Liberty, whose magic name 




This honored decoration morn. 


Was dear as mother, sister, wife. 




Their record radiant forgot, — 


1 Hail, brave inheritors of fame! 




The dead are not of glory shorn ! 


Hail, to these gallant sons of Mars ! 




Though dim the stars, the light shines through. 


Marching below the stripes and stars, 




Though stained with smoke, the white and blue, 


Toward the camping ground where sleep 




Though rent the waving stripes of red — 


Their comrades deaf to war's huzzas. 




The dear old flag, by soldiers true, 


Sweet is the memory they keep 




Is lifted like a wing o'er head, 


Of lands men and of gallant tars. 




And borne along in grand review. 


There are no laurels fame can reap, 




Where the Grand Army's stately tread, 


Too green, for their immortal scars. 




Is heard in street and avenue. 


This memorable holiday, 


Peace has hei 


■ " triump 


is " and bears sway, 


Through our 


fair land, 


from sea to sea, 


And strews 


sweet flo 


wers where blue and gray 


Sleep undisturbed, from passion free, 


And every 


mound bears a bouquet ; 


For love strikes hands 


with loyalty. 


Brave hearts suggest 
28 


and heads obey. 













THE BLUEBIRD'S SONG. 


OUR FLAG. 






Sing thy sweet solo, soft and low, 


Our fathers looked to God on high. 






Where draped flags are unrolled. 


And copied from the starry sky 






Here heroes sleep, unvexed by woe, 


The beautiful and grand design, 






Beneath the hallowed mold. 
Roses of flame, lilies of snow, 


That gives our flag a light divine. 






We strew with daffodils of gold. 


The stars are fires of Freedom true : 






Thy song salutes a nation free, 
And charms the listening ear ; 


Fidelity the field of Blue ; 

The Red is courage in the fight ; 






No war-notes in thy melody. 


And purity unstained, the White. 






Blue-coated volunteer. 


At Hudson, in the storm of flame. 






Music awakes the memory 

Of deeds of loved ones sleeping here. 


The negro won immortal fame ; 
And we present the flag to-night 






Sweet song-bird, robed in softest blue, 


To men who flinch not in the fight. 






Proudly the grand old tree 
Holds high its arms so stout and true. 


Though black as night the negro's skin. 






Is he not fond of thee ? 


A starry soul is lit within ; 






Thy nest is trimmed with beads of dew. 


His race shall, as his Flag, be free. 






Thy eggs a radiant rosary. 


Unfurled for God and Liberty ! 






See Note 6, Page 33. 
29 













MORRIS ISLAND. 



The billows pulsing to the sea, 
Are shouting anthems of the free. 

Up from the waters fogs arise, 
Like a perplexing mystery, 
Through which we strive in vain to see 

The course the flaming missile flies. 



To Heaven, in chariots of flame, 
Heroes ascend with crowns of fame 

To meet the martyr's gone before ; 
Their unseen mantles strew the air, 
And fall on shoulders fit to wear 

The scarf of stars their fathers wore. 



The curtain lifted, we behold 

The morning, clad in blue and gold — 

Gods, how the red-mouthed mortars roar ! 
The thunder-bell of war has tolled ; 
A-Vhere batteries blazed, the dust uproUed, 

Hangs like a pall above the shore. 



From skies the bomb of battle rends, 
Sweet Liberty, unscathed, descends 

To kiss the sleepers on the sod. 
Within her stainless hands behold 
Free charters writ in words of gold, 

Signed with the signature of God. 



30 











''OLD JOHN BROWN." 


LITTLE BLUE-COATS MISSION. 




Hail to the memory 

Of brave old Captain Brown. 

Hero of Liberty, — 

He wears a martyr's crown. 


Thy tuneful flute, blue-coated pioneer. 
With ecstasy and kindled hope is heard. 
No storm grates in thy happy song, sweet bird, 

We welcome thee, soft-throated joyous seer ; 

Snow-drop and crocus lift their heads to hear 




The scaffold was the stair, 


The hymn that each returning spring has stirred 






On which he climbed above, 


The human heart with melody. No word 






Good angels met him there, 
An escort band of love. 


That chimes in verse can so delight the ear. 

Art thou a minstrel and a prophet true, 
Whose message needs no skilled interpreter. 






" His body's in the grave. 


Suggesting armies, robed like thee in blue, 






His soul is marching on," 


Sent here our patriot souls to stir ? 






The land he sought to save 


We know our nation has renewed its lease 






Fought freedom's fight and won. 
North Elba's towering hills, 


Of life, and thy song is the song of peace. 








The monuments that God 


THE NATION'S JUBILEE. 






Put up, where dew distils, 
Like tears upon the sod, — 








The day our fathers waited for is dawning on us now ; 






Show where the soldier lies, x 
Death gave him his brevet ; 


I see the mantle falling on the prophet at the plough ; 

I hear the trumpet ringing where the victors strike the blow. 






He sleeps where wild flowers' eyes 


Niagara shouts the chorus of the rivers to the sea, 






With drops of dew are wet. 


Each wave swells like the bosom that is panting to be free. 






And the loud thunder bells. 


The stars are lit in heaven for the nation's jubilee. 






Ring in their cloudy walls ; 


Sweet promises are written on the soft leaves of the flowers; 






And like exploding shells — 


The birds of spring are jubilant within their leafy towers ; 






The summer lightning falls. 


A rainbow has been woven with the shuttle of the showers, 
ii 











THE BA TTLE OF INKERMAN. 



"Forward ! " the brave old captain said ; 
Then through rough storms of fire and lead 
Marched the true men with gallant tread ; 

Then the terrific fight began ! 
Onward fresh troops of stalwart men, 
Across the valley, through the glen, 
Up the round hill, over the plain, 

To the battle of Inkerman ! 

Cannon thundered in the rent air ; 
Muskets poured out incessant glare ; 
Sabre clashed sabre everywhere — 

'Mid shouts of rank, squadron and clan ! 
Old England brightened her great name. 
Gay France honored her lofty fame, 
Only the Cossack bowed with shame, 

At the battle of Inkerman ! 



Swiftly the currents foam and swell ; 
The sky seems a Plutonian bell, 
Loud tolling the sad funeral knell 

Of the dead soldier, stained and wan. 
On neighing steeds, strong, fierce and fleet. 
Through smoke and fire and leaden sleet. 
Like angry waves the squadrons meet, 

At the battle of Inkerman ! 

The strong battalions falter, wheel. 
And fly before the hedge of steel ; 
Thunders the last loud cannon's peal 

O'er the slaughtered steed and lifeless man 
Brave hearts that ne'er shall beat again. 
Sleep on the far Crimean plain, 
Whose rivulets once wore the stain 

Of the battle of Inkerman ! 



Long will the blood-stained laurels won 
On red turf smoking in the sun. 
Tell of the gallant fight begun 

So long ago, and of its plan. 
When rolls were called, none made reply 
Of those on furlough in the sky ; 
Souls mustered out can never die, 

Fighting their foes at Inkerman ! 



See Note 7, Page 33 



32 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 



Note i. 

In 1813, the flag of the United States was changed at 
the suggestion of the Hon. Mr. Wendover, of New York. 
A return was made to the thirteen stripes, as it was antici- 
pated the flag wonid become unwieldly should a stripe be 
added on the admission of each new State. He also 
proposed the arrangement of all the stars in the form of a 
single star, and a lady present cut a pattern for the star. 
The resolution of 1813 was as follows : 

Resoh'ed^ That from and after the Fourth of July, the flag of the 
United States be thirteen horizontal stripes, alternate white and red ; 
that the union be twenty stars, white in a blue field ; and that on the 
admission of a new State, one star be added to the flag. 

Note 2. 

During the war and after, I often met the ' ' Drummer 
Boy of the Rappahannock," — once at the office of the New 
York Tribiine where he was presented with a silver drum. 
Prof. H. G. Eastman took charge of him at the close of the 
war, and made him conspicuous at public meetings in his 
(Eastman's) Commercial College in Poughkeepsie. The 
last time I heard from the " Hero of the Drum," he was a 
railroad conductor out west. 

Note 3. 

The Governor of Massachusetts sent the following 
dispatch to the Mayor of Baltimore : 

*' I pray you cause the bodies of our Massachusetts soldiers, dead in 
Baltimore, to be immediately laid out, preserved in ice, and tenderly 
sent forward by express to me. All expenses will be paid by this 
Commonwealth. 

John A. Andrew, Governor of Massachusetts." 

Note 4. 

This sonnet was written a short time before the death of 
the distinguished preacher and orator. 

Note 5. 

Harry Lee was a member of the Lee Avenue Church, 
Brooklyn, N. Y., an active worker in the Sunday School, 
and a friend to every humane and religious enterprise. 



Note 6. 

A large and enthusiastic meeting was held at the Church 
of the Puritans, on Union Square, to witness the presenta- 
tion of a stand of colors to the Seventh I\egiment, Corps 
D'Afrique, (formerly the 2d colored regiment of Louisiana 
volunteers), whose gallantry at Port Hudson is so well 
known. These impromptu stanzas were pencilled on the 
occasion and handed to Dr. Cheever in the course of the 
services, and were read by him at the close of the meeting. 
They were written by G. W. Bungay, and are worthy to be 
set to music. 

Note 7. 

This poem was published in the St. James' Magazine, 
one of the most fastidious and exacting in London, Eng. 
It appeared with the following editorial comments : "As a 
tribute to John C. Paget's admirable article " Inkerman 
and its Lessons," in our April number, we have received 
from New York the following verses, which we print with 
great pleasure, convinced that the sentiments enunciated 
are as sincere on the part of our American friends, as they 
are strongly expressed. Remembering the bitter jealousy 
Hawthorne recorded in his note book on witnessing our 
public rejoicing for the fall of Sebastopal, we are sure even 
Mr. Bungay's lines will be gratifying to Englishmen, and 
show that one American can at least in the Empire City, 
feel nothing but generous sympathy and enthusiastic 
admiration for a glorious victory, dearly won by the soldiers 
of " Old England." It is true that heroism is of no nation- 
ality, but fires the heart and wins the homage of every 
chivalrous man, who reads its records. Nevertheless, we 
believe that if Mr. Bungay's feelings toward this country 
and its military and naval renown were more extensively 
shared by his fellow countrymen, the friendship between 
the two Anglo Saxon peoples would be strengthened, and 
the Atlantic, indeed become in very fact, what it is often 
called, the "American Ferry." It remains for us only to add 
that Mr. Bungay is the literary editor of the Metropolitan, 
an extremely well edited, well written and well got up 
magazine. 



33 



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